The Delicious Wine of Truth
by JRDragonfly
Summary: Reek is questioned by Roose Bolton, who is unconvinced that Theon Greyjoy could have been completely erased by Ramsay's torture. -One shot-


The wine was a vibrant, violent violet. It glittered in the dim light whenever the flames blew kisses nearby. It ran smoothly from bottle to glass, interupting the cup's transparancy.

"Fuck the Boltons," a guard said. He tossed another shovel of hay out of a kennel void of dogs.

The guard with him took a slow drink from his glass, then placed it down on an upturned barrel and picked up a pitch fork.

A dog behind bars growled at the pitch fork, but the guard ignored him.

"Aye, that Ramsay is a cunt. Roose wasn't too bad, but considering he gave his name to that bastard... Well..." He stabbed a bale of hay and twisted.

"Right," the first guard grunted. "But they got the whole North now, with Moat Calin sittin' empty and charred."

"Winterfell is next, I hear."

"What do we need Winterfell for? There aren't any ravens left. The whole place is in ruins. There's no shelter left, and winter is coming."

"Yeah. We'll march our asses all the way down to that shit-hole and freeze to death before we can reach the courtyard."

"Do you think the Greyjoys burned the bodies when they raided?"

"Balon raided Winterfell?"

"No, his boy. Theon."

The guard snickered. "You mean Reek?"

"You have to admit Ramsay has some skill, when you see what he did to that boy. But... If they didn't burn the bodies..."

The guards stopped in their work to meet eyes. Their eyes were wide and black in the poorly lit stable. They poured more wine and drank.

"Fuck it." The first guard spat. He opened a kennel and grabbed a dog by the collar and drug him into a freshly-cleaned one. "I'll just stay behind. Say I'm better with the houds, anyway, than most folk."

"They'll flay you. Call you a deserter."

"For holding the fort while they're away? Like hell. Besides, you don't need an army to take a dead town."

...

Reek tapped his heels into the flanks of the beast below him. The horse grumbled but it was only something Reek could feel in his thighs, not hear with his ears. He kept the reigns loose and tugged them only when his horse was straying away from Lord Ramsay's own. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

Ramsay cocked his head to stare at Reek. His horse huffed and its mouth frothed white like seafoam, its eyes wild as its master's.

Evening fell upon them, and the army disbanded and made camp in a clearing atop a small hill.

Roose stood and watched his soldiers errect tents and build fires the way a shepherd might watch a sickly herd of sheep.

Ramsay road his horse over to his father and stopped, sitting up tall in the saddle. He relished the feeling of being above him for a moment before dismounting. He threw his reigns to Reek, who took them and led his horse away.

Ramsay stood beside Roose and mirrored him.

His father spoke without looking at him.

"We'll reach Winterfell by high-noon tomorrow."

Ramsay nodded eagarly.

Roose turned to Ramsay and frowned.

Ramsay frowned, too, confused at his expression. "What?" Ramsay asked.

"Where is your creature?" Roose asked, looking around Ramsay.

"With the horses. He'll be back shortly."

"Perhaps he took a horse to warn those left at Winterfell."

"Reek is loyal, father. He'll never leave my side unless I order him to."

Roose said nothing. He watched the soldiers tending the horses and saw Reek among them.

"Do you believe he is senseless?"

"No, of course not. He has his own thoughts and emotions," Ramsay said cooly. "He is his own person. Unlike any other." He failed to surpress a grin.

Roose looked at his son. There was something in Ramsay's tone that suggested something Roose dissapproved of.

"Send him to my tent." He looked back at the growing campsite. "I would like to get to know him a little better. _You _will keep your distance." Roose cut his eyes at Ramsay, who bit his lip.

"As you command, my Lord," Ramsay said, ducking his head.

...

The sky melted into a grey pool of haze, growing darker by the hour. Torches were placed on stakes about the camp and near the entrances of tents, but far enough away so that the wind could not sweep the flames onto the fabric. The horses were tied in a half-circle along some beams and they stood quietly, occassionally stomping a hoof into the dirt or swishing a fly with a tail.

Ramsay took a bottle of wine from a storage tent and walked the grounds to his own. His boots were heavy but made little sound on the earth, for the grass was thick and the earth was soft from a recent rain. He wondered what his father wanted with Reek. Roose never called for Ramsay to spend the night with him. The jealously was maddening.

He threw back the curtain door to his tent and startled Reek, who was kneeling by his bedroll eating a chunk of bread. He lowered his head and chewed the bread quickly, gulping it down in large portions.

"Get up, Reek, my father wants you," Ramsay ordered sharply, his knuckles turning white around the bottle of wine.

Reek stood and gazed at Ramsay uncertainly.

"Go." Ramsay swung his arm to the door. "He's waiting for you."

Reek walked to the door but Ramsay caught him by the arm and pulled him so that they were facing each other.

"Leave this crust," Ramsay snarled, swatting the bread from Reek's fingers. "And wipe your bloody mouth." He used his sleeve and wiped the crumbs from Reek's face.

Reek kept his eyes down, trembling.

"Now go on."

Reek exited the tent.

Ramsay kicked Reek's piece of bread across the tent, then stabbed his knife into the bottle's cork and jerked it out. He threw himself down on the make-shift bed and tipped back the bitter liquid down his throat. Immediately he felt the warmth of the drink sizzling in his stomach, and he belched.

He glanced around the tent, but he was alone and it felt extrodinarily empty and small. He took another drink, deeper than before.

...

Roose kept two guards with him in his tent. He wasn't a fool. He knew better than the trust this twisted creature called Reek. Theon Greyjoy had to be in there somewhere.

"Someone's here to see you, my Lord," a guard outside the tent stated.

"Send him in," Roose said.

The flap opened and Reek stepped inside. Roose studied him as he entered.

Hunched, limping. Dishevled hair and clothing, dirty face and hands. His eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles. His facial hair was stringy and unkept. His lips appeared eternally cracked and dry. Reek held his neck bent over and his eyes on the floor, and he wrung his hands together uncertainly as he paused just inside the tent. The guards watched him warily, their hands on the hilts of their weapons.

"Have a seat, boy," Roose gestured to a chair. He waited until Reek had sat down before sitting down across from him.

"We're on our way to Winterfell, do you know that?" Roose questioned.

"Yes, my Lord," Reek answered.

"You've been there before."

Reek nodded shortly.

"When you raided with your father's army and slaughtered the whole village, and told everyone you killed the two youngest Stark boys."

Reek twitched.

"Didn't you?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"But you weren't Reek then, were you?" Roose leaned forward in his chair, staring with burning eyes at Reek, but Reek wouldn't look at him.

Reek's mouth flapped but he found no words to say. His eyes flicked back and forth in his skull and he kept his head down as if watching flies dance on a pile of shit.

"Answer me!" Roose barked.

Reek flinched violently and began to shiver. He dug his nails into his own flesh and thin, hot spot ran from his lips and into his lap.

"What was your name when you raided Winterfell?" Roose demanded, each word spoken short and harsh and unrelentingly cruel.

"R-r-r-r-" Reek sputtered.

"What?" Roose asked, mockingly holding his hand to his ear as if hard of hearing.

"Reek, Reek, I'm Reek," Reek insisted, blinking rapidly at the floor. "F-f-forever."

"But who _were _you?" Roose asked coldly.

"R-r..." Reek finally lifted his eyes and met Roose's stare.

"You weren't always Reek. You used to be Theon Greyjoy, didn't you?"

"I was Theon Greyjoy when I went to Moat Calin," Reek burst out, proud of himself for understanding a question and knowing the answer.

"No," Roose sighed. "_Before_ then. Before you were captured by the Boltons. Before Ramsay cut off your cock. Your name was Theon Greyjoy when you lived in Winterfell. Your father named you Theon Greyjoy when you were born. Your father was Balon Greyjoy. You know this."

Reek shook his head desperately.

"No, no," he whimpered. "I'm Reek, always Reek. Theon was just a game. I was playing a role. I'm Reek. _Reek!_"

Roose resisted the urge to strike Reek across the cheek. Instead he grabbed him by the front of his clothes and shook him like a ragdoll.

"You think you're fooling everyone, but you're not. You aren't as clever as you think you are, Theon. I won't ever believe your little story. _Flaying doesn't make men lose their sainity!" _

He shoved Reek away from him and the chair tipped over and Reek hit the floor hard. Reek laid there for a second before rolling over onto all-fours. He straightened up the chair and sat back in it once more without a word. Between his legs, it appeared that Reek had wet himself. He hung his head and trembled.

"Now," Roose said breathlessly, sitting down again as if civilized. "Think for a moment. What comes next out of your cock-sucking mouth may be the difference between life and death for you."

Reek said nothing, breathing rapidly like a wounded bird, his chest trembling.

"Who were you after you defeated Winterfell? You were a prince. What was your name?" Roose pressed.

Reek swallowed audibly. When he spoke, his words were thin and weak. Broth from the stomach of a dying man.

"Theon Greyjoy."

The guards exchanged glances.

"Oh? But I thought you were always Reek. Even when you pretended to be someone else, you were Reek deep down inside."

Reek shook his head.

"I... I was Theon Greyjoy."

Roose sat back in his chair, satisfied.

"Put him in chains. The Greyjoys are our enemies. We cannot have one loose in our camp."

The guards moved forward.

"B-but I'm Reek, now!" Reek cried. His rabbit eyes swung wild from the guards to the Warden in front of him. "I'm Reek!"

The guards slid their arms under Reek's and hauled him to his feet.

"Reek! I'm Reek!" He shouted at them as they clamped his wrists behind his back. He squirmed as they led him away, but otherwise did not resist.

_"Reek!"_

...

The next morning the soldiers took down the tents and packed everything away and prepared to move on.

Ramsey was still alseep in his tent, fighting a hangover from too much wine. He thrashed in his bed until he awoke in a feverish sweat. He looked around and saw through the tent flap that everyone was getting their things together to go. He stood up hastily and wobbled on his legs like a newborn foal, grappling with the curtain door. He stepped outside and the sun was too bright and it hurt behind his eyes. He held a hand to his brow and squinted until he saw his father, standing like a statue at the edge of the camp.

He stumbled towards him but had to stop and vomit between his legs. The rancid wine splashed onto his shoes and stunk up his legs. He cursed and hurried back to his tent and changed clothes.

The sun still pained him, but Ramsay scowled at it and stomped out of the tent. He saw his father again, but this time he was walking down towards the horses.

"My Lord father!" Ramsay called, running to him.

Roose turned his head towards his son but did not stop walking. The soldiers strapped the saddles on the horses and began loading them with provisions. Roose watched them.

"Father!" Ramsay caught up to him, breathless and pale. He swallowed a wet, warm taste on the back of his tongue. "Father, good morning." He inclined his head.

Roose nodded back. "Good morning, son." His tone was clipped. He knew instantly that Ramsay was wine-sick.

"Where is Reek?"

"Your Reek is Theon Greyjoy in disguise. He admitted it last night. He is now my prisoner."

Ramsay's mouth dropped open, but he quickly shut it and licked his lips. "Father," he began, forceably slow. "Reek is our friend, our ally. Theon Greyjoy is gone. I-"

"You," Roose interrupted, whirling on him. "You trusted an enemy. You let him into our homes and taught him our secrets and gave him a horse. He could have left at any moment, but he was too smart for that. And you were too stupid."

Ramsay gritted his teeth. "Allow me to speak to him, father. I will sort things out."

"Perhaps I ought to revoke your name." Roose said, his voice cruelly whimsical. "The Bolton name is not for fools or traitors."

"Of which I am neither, I assure you, father. Please..." Ramsay stepped in front of his father so that he would meet his eye. "Let me speak to Reek. You may be present if you desire. I will prove to you that Theon is no more."

"As you wish," Roose agreed easily. "I'll take you to him, and you may speak as you will, but once the tents are down we are moving out."

"Thank you, father."

...

Reek sitting in a dejected pile, practically laying on his own lap. His clothes were hanging loose around him like clothes would if a child tried on his parent's. He sniffled at the ground, his arms wrenched and chained behind his back.

A guard, half-asleep, sat on a barrel and occassionally glanced in Reek's direction, but otherwise saw him as no kind of threat.

Ramsay entered the tent without warning, and the guard hastily straightened up and stood tall, and his eyes widened dramatically when Roose entered after him. On the floor, Reek did not even look up.

"My Lords," the guard saluted.

"Leave us," Roose said shortly.

The guard obeyed.

Ramsay went to Reek and knelt in front of him.

"Reek," he said gently.

Reek's head jerked up and he flinched to see his master so close. His eyes filled instantly with tears, and his mouth opened but he couldn't speak.

"What did you tell my father?" Ramsay asked.

"I..." Reek glanced at Roose, then focused on Ramsay. "I told him who I used to be."

"And who was that?"

"Th-Theon Greyjoy." Reek shivered.

Ramsay closed his eyes. Nausea was gurgling up in his system. He struggled to contain it. "Reek," he said carefully. "You remember Moat Calin. I asked you to pretend to be something you weren't. You were Theon Greyjoy then. Is that what you told my father?"

Reek shook his head although Ramsay couldn't see him do so, for his eyes were still closed. "I told him a-about before. Before I was Reek. In Winterfell."

Ramsay opened his eyes. "But you _are_ Reek now, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course. Now and forever, my Lord."

"Father, unchain him." Ramsay kept his eyes locked onto Reek's, and Reek stared right back.

Roose tossed Ramsay the key, and Ramsay reached around Reek, as if giving him a hug, and felt around until he found the lock. He unlocked it and sat back.

He gazed into Reek's eyes as Reek brought his hands into his lap and began rubbing his tender wrists.

"Listen to me now. What I say is true."

Reek nodded.

"If you are still Theon Greyjoy, then you have a wonderful opportunity before you." Ramsay smiled thinly and drew a daggar from a sheath at his side. Gently, he took Reek's hand and placed the hilt into his palm, folding his fingers over it.

"Honor my words, father," Ramsay said loudly. "No harm shall come to him if he should harm me."

"If you wish," Roose said grudgingly.

"Reek." Ramsay touched Reek's chin gently with one finger. "If you are still Theon Greyjoy, then take this opportunity. I am the man that captured you, tortured you, took away bits and pieces of you. I took your cock. I hurt you in ways deeper than I can even imagine. Take my daggar. Stab me in the heart." He pulled open his shirt to expose his chest, and he pointed where his heart was. "No one will harm you. No one will come after you. You will be given a horse and your freedom, I promise you this. Theon, it was my family that killed yours- The Starks. And I am not sorry."

Ramsay's eyes were a ragged, boiling sea of emotion, yet the tiniest of smiles crept at the corner of his lips. He held his shirt open, and his torso was covered in goosebumps. He could not keep his hands from trembling. His back was drenched in sweat.

Reek looked at the daggar in his hands. He could still feel where Ramsay had touched him, molded his fingers around the hilt. He pointed the tip of the blade at Ramsay's chest, so close, yet not touching him. Reek stared. Right in front of the very tip of the blade, he could see Ramsay's heart beating through his thin. A quick, pulsating patch of skin. Scars, old, jagged, and some new, raked and rippled over Ramsay's torso. He saw the goosebumps but imagined his skin would still feel warm. He recalled bathing him. He had been warm, then. It was nice. Reek twitched.

Suddenly he dropped the knife and fell into Ramsay's chest and hugged him fiercely. Instantly Ramsay's skin was wet with tears and mucus.

"I'm Reek," Reek whimpered. "I'm Reek, my Lord, I'm Reek."

Ramsay folded his arms over Reek and held him close.

"I know, Reek," he said softly, and stroked his hair. "I know."

"We're leaving _now._"Roose, in a fury, turned on his heel and left the tent.

Ramsay kissed Reek on the cheek. "They won't even recognize you in Winterfell," he said sweetly. "You've become so _much better_, Reek, much better than before."

"Thank you, my Lord," Reek babbled.

"No, thank _you,_ Reek."

Ramsay stood and helped Reek to his feet, grinning at Reek's fearful twitchyness. They left the tent and the soldiers outside began breaking it down and packing it up.

As they headed to the horses, Ramsay's hangover got the better of him and he grabbed onto Reek for support while vomitting out the remainder of last night's wine.

"Are you all right, my Lord?" Reek asked, struck with anxiety at seeing his master so helpless and weak. He was unconcerned that Ramsay had just thrown up on his feet.

"Yes, perfectly fine." Ramsay thumped Reek cheerfully on the back. "It's going to be a fine day."

They mounted their horses and trotted to the front, joining Roose Bolton at the head of the procession. There was a chill in the air, but the rising sun warmed them with its rays.


End file.
